Dollhouse PlayLand
by Unsaid Goodbyes
Summary: Inside the mind of a player. “You’re the inexperienced, ignorant girl who obsessed over your ‘perfect’ boyfriend and will soon lose everything.”—JamesxVictoria. AU/AH.


A/N: I've never done their characters before, so I was interested. I've always wanted to do a story dealing with the mind of a player—because it just seems fascinating to me the way someone can just think about things like that like it's nothing. I hope you guys enjoyed the story as much as I did. Read on...

Summary: Inside the mind of a player. "You're the inexperienced, ignorant girl who obsessed over your _'perfect'_ boyfriend and will soon lose everything."—JamesxVictoria. AU/AH.

**Title: **Dollhouse Play Land

**Rating: **M

**Authors: **Breathless Tomb

One-Shot

**James' POV**

What am I supposed to say?

Honestly—the whole thing screams of awkward moments and dead conversations, yet you walk by my side, grinning and laughing like these are the best days of your life. They probably are though. I'm not too bad at the games I play—and even if I was, you're much too naive to realize that this is all just a ruse. The circumstances almost make me snort; every once in awhile I have to stop myself from spilling everything. All my plans, and thoughts, and internals jokes about _you_.

_You stupid, vapid girl,_ I think cruelly as I watch you enjoying your sundae obliviously, _why can't you just see through this all?_ But no matter how often I think these scornful words, you remain stargazed and awestruck—trapped in your pathetic daydream world. If these games weren't so humorous to me—to see the tears and wide, shocked eyes at the end—, I would've found you slightly boring. No fight or challenge at all.

This..._game_ became a passion of mine years ago. To be honest, to this day I still have no idea how I stumbled upon it. Maybe a book or a site or a story from one of my older brothers? Though, it didn't really matter. I'd started my games at the ripe age of fourteen, and here I was four years later—a major league player.

That word is exactly what I could be dubbed as. A _player_. A _playboy_. A _heartbreaker_. I prefer the term, _hunter_. I'm the fearsome, cunning predator, everyone else...they're my weak, narrow-minded prey. Like a lion hunting, I stalk my _'gazelle' _with an unchallenged finesse and prowess. I also have the benefit of a charismatic personality and above decent looks. Tools to lure in the unsuspecting prey.

My prey never do last very long. A couple of months at best—earning trust takes about that long. I've learned all the tricks in the book. The flowers, the sweet stolen kisses, the kind compliments—using words like _beautiful_ or _lovely_—, and the concern. Girls are too predictable—none of them ever differ in what they find romantic. Perhaps I'm not as great as I'd like to believe. Maybe they're all just _that_ easy.

To be fair though, I have failed once before. Alice Cullen. The prey who escaped. Just as I'd been about to make my move, she'd fallen for that pussy Jasper Hale. That kid made me sick to my stomach. Singing love songs like he _meant_ them, staying _faithful_ even with plenty of stunning offers from other women. He was just a disease. It was prissy boys like him who were killing off the _real_ hunters.

Like myself.

All my other...victims though, had been played perfectly. Putty in my very capable hands. It was so easy! A couple of kisses and _'I love you's_ and _'I'm here for you's_ and a stuffed bear from a fair, and suddenly the girls were throwing themselves at me! Self-control was not my forte. I liked sex. I liked pussy. Girls these days...so easily charmed into bed. I'd insult them, but then again, I lived for their sweet bodies.

I turn my attention back to _you,_ still staring wide-eyed into the sky. You're stupid—it's true—, but _probably_ one of my most favourite girls. With silky red hair—so ready for my hands to grab and position—, sweet lips to wrap around my cock—sucking me off into oblivion—, and one of the tightest pussies. Plus the fact that you _desperately_ believe that I love you too.

_So fucking conceited..._

_Why the fuck would I love you?_

_How the fuck would you capture a heart that was never there to begin with?_

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, babe?" You ask me, turning those pretty sparkling eyes to me. I see them run over my body quickly, as if you can't get enough of me. _Fucking nympho_. I stifle another cackle and hide a smug grin. _Just keep believing I'm your adoring boyfriend, baby..._

"Not as beautiful as you, sweetie," I croon to appease you, when I really want to say, _"Why don't we skip this bullshit and go back to my house?"_ But that would ruin the whole plan. You may be obnoxiously dense, but even _you're_ not that unintelligent. Besides, you still have another week or so before you're gone for good.

Another week or two to keep playing the perfect Ken and Barbie. Then I'll have to break your heart. The thought makes me smile to myself. _What a perfect, fucked up ending._ I wrap my arm around your waist; my fingers playing with the belt loops on your short shorts as we walk down the boardwalk. You find it glorious—you revel in all my attention supposedly fixated on you.

Though, in reality, I could care less. You're nothing more than a whore who I fucked a couple of times in exchange for a cheap, meaningless _'I love you'_. You're nothing to me, and you never have been. You're expendable—besides, I've had my eyes recently on a cute little brunette dating Alice's twin, Edward Cullen. I've never broken up a couple before.

"I love you, James," You sigh happily, and I know you mean it. It shows in your every move and explodes in your kisses.

And it makes me smile, because you've always been so fucking easy. You _do_ love me, but you _learned_ to. Originally, you only wanted me as a fucking accessory. Another diamond necklace or a pair of Prada pumps. You thought _you_ could collar _me_. Well think again, bitch. _No one_ ties me down. Ever.

"I love you too, Victoria," I say back, and for once, I do it without the urge to gag or laugh. Because for once, I almost pity you. You're the inexperienced, ignorant girl who obsessed over your _'perfect'_ boyfriend and will soon lose everything. You're that kind of girl—melodramatic and infatuated.

But...pity is also not my forte. It's a pussy emotion, just like love. I look back up to the sky, seeing the puffy clouds float by.

I suppose it is a nice day...for now.

_Just keep living in your dollhouse play-land, sweetheart..._

_We don't have much longer now._

A/N: I hope that entertained you, or whatever. I kind of pity Victoria. I was thinking about writing an extra chapter to this one-shot where you see Victoria _knows_ that he's a player but still loves him and knows it'll never last. But then I realized, I _like_ her being an oblivious idiot. It adds a certain charm.

--Breathless Tomb--


End file.
